Easy as ABC
by DeliriousMess
Summary: So I'm undertaking an alphabet style fic that will try to develop Duke and Jennifer's relationship. Overall, this is turning out to be anachronistic to the rest of the canon in the show. Still hope it's something you enjoy reading!
1. A is for Amsterdam

**A/N**: The first one is set sometime in between 4x05 and 4x06, but most of the sections will probably be anachronistic to the canon unless stated otherwise. Comments and reviews are welcome as I'm still pretty nervous about my characterization and overall storytelling ability.

**A is for Amsterdam**

Duke woke to the sound of his alarm, and the smell of coffee brewing. He glowered at his phone as he turned off his alarm (a ridiculous techno tune; one of the only tones offered by his phone that wouldn't be absorbed by the usual sounds of living on a ship), and shook the last traces of sleep from his head.

It had been another night of uneasy sleep, followed by only just making it close to something restful in the last fifteen minutes before his alarm went off.

He swung his legs over the edge of his bed, wincing at the pain in his thigh, and rubbed his face, his elbows placed carefully on his knees, then lowered his head so that he could try to squeeze out the tension from the back of his neck.

It didn't do much of anything, but then again he was just trying to convince the rest of his body that it was time to be awake.

The coffee would help.

It would help _more_ if it was already in his room, but dreaming wasn't going to get him to the kitchen.

He checked the bandage on his thigh, sighing. The bleeding had slowed, and he hadn't bled through the bandage, so he figured he could risk putting off replacing it until after a shower. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the floor and carefully pulled them on. He finally stood from his bed, stretching as he did, and knew that he might need to devote a little more time to his yoga, once he got moving, albeit more carefully than his usual routine.

Though, he thought as he walked towards his door, while he was dreaming about preexisting coffee in his room, he couldn't help extending the dream to a pretty little brunette (who over talks when she's nervous and who recently moved into the spare room on his boat) bringing it to him, maybe just wearing one of his shirts, and smiling at him like she does when she's uncertain of what she's doing and she just needs a nod from him for it to change into something genuine and warm, and he'd take the mug from her and pull her back to bed with him. He'd kiss her for real and properly this time, undoing whatever impression that Tyler kid left, because what better way to start a day than—

As he opened the door, he was surprised to see Jennifer standing there. He must've opened the door just before she was going to, because she was pulling her left hand back from where the door handle had been when it had been closed. Her hand disappeared into the sleeve of her sweater as she lowered it. The sweater she was wearing had clearly belonged to someone bigger than her, and seemed to be a strange amalgamation of sections of other sweaters. It had a blue body with green sleeves that had tan elbow patches. It did not seem like one of her usual, carefully chosen articles of clothing.

In her right hand were two mugs, one being her usual bright yellow mug, and another being a plain white one. The contents of both were steaming, and Duke wondered briefly if a new Trouble was making him project his dreams, which would actually be a pretty great Trouble for once.

"Hi." She managed to squeak out, looking from him, to the floor, and then back. She went from rocking on her feet to trying to hide them inside of her dark gray sweatpants. She seemed hyperaware of how close they were in the space of his doorway, and was unsure of how to behave because of that. He wondered briefly how much her reaction to their proximity had anything to do with what Tyler had done.

"Hi." He rasped back, his voice still laden with sleep. He cleared his throat and glanced at the mugs in her hand, trying to clear away his earlier thoughts of coffee being brought to him and of the damage done by a disturbed teenager, "One of those for me?"

She looked at the mugs in her hands as if she had forgotten they were there and was surprised to see them there. "Oh! Um, yeah. I figured—I mean, I wasn't _sure_ when you'd get up but—I mean, I _did_ stab you in the thigh, but that wasn't—I was just making coffee and I thought about how nice it'd be if someone would leave a fresh cup for me while I was sleeping—except that sounds really weird, um—,"

Duke just chuckled and carefully reached for the white mug in her hand. She brought up her left hand to help so that they didn't drop the mugs. His fingers brushed hers as he took it, and he couldn't help but notice how her posture straightened just the slightest bit at the contact. Jennifer watched him nervously as he took a drink. He smiled at her, "Thanks. That was sweet of you."

She blushed and smiled back, "You're welcome."

They looked at each other for a moment longer when an electronic ding sounded from somewhere behind her. Duke looked beyond her, towards the breakfast nook, and Jennifer turned around, letting out a quiet, "Oh!" as she went.

Duke followed after her, trying to hide his limp as he went, "Waffles?"

"Mm, yes please." She grinned as she slid back behind her laptop at the table. For her part, she didn't make her observance of his limp obvious, but for her trying she couldn't hide how her features stiffened. "I mean, please if you have time. I think Wade already left for the Gull, so I wasn't sure how soon after you wanted to follow him."

"Well breakfast is the most important part of the day." He smirked at her, wishing the rigid undertone of her expression would lessen, "Besides, what kind of host would I be if I didn't offer breakfast on your first morning here?"

She smiled at him, though her mind seemed to be elsewhere. She watched him as he started pulling out the milk and the rest of the ingredients to start in on the batter for a batch of Duke Crocker Signature waffles. After a moment she finally managed to ask, "How's the leg?"

He shrugged, "I've had worse."

She nodded, chewing on the inside of her lip.

He paused as he measured out the flour, "Jennifer, I'm fine. I'm not gonna lose the damn thing or anything."

She let out a nervous giggle, "I think that'd be too many stereotypes at once for you."

He gave her a confused look.

"Oh come _on_," she laughed, "You live on a ship? You're a—," she raised her hands and mimed quotation marks at him, "—'delivery boy'?"

Duke gave her an incredulous look.

"You have a _goatee_!" she exclaimed, gesturing emphatically towards him.

He ran his hand over his facial hair defensively, "What's wrong with my goatee?"

"Well nothing," she admitted, "but if you somehow get a peg leg, I think your transformation into a pirate will be complete."

"Really? What if I get a parrot and start saying, 'Yar' and 'Shiver me timbers'?" he asked, slipping into an exaggerated pirate voice towards the end.

This sent her into a fit of giggles, making her relax into the bench. He just smiled to himself as he looked from her back to his bowl, content that he had managed to lessen her anxiety, and if that meant making pirate jokes about himself, then so be it.

She managed to calm herself down just as her computer dinged again. She let out a few more, much quieter giggles as she pulled her left knee up to the bench with her, and leaned her cheek into it as she began smiling at her screen and quickly typing a reply.

He glanced at her and finally asked about her stylistically strange sweater as he opened one of the cabinets to grab the waffle iron.

She shrugged, "I was cold?"

"Ha ha," he sarcastically answered as he set the waffle iron on the counter. He plugged it in so it would start to heat up and sprayed it with nonstick spray.

She giggled at him as he gave the batter a few stirs, "If you're implying that the style is a bit outdated and not something that a woman of my inclinations would typically opt to wear, then 'what's with the sweater' is that it was my dad's. Almost all of my favorite memories of my dad involve him in this sweater."

Duke shook his head as he ladled some of the batter onto the now well-heated waffle iron, closing it, "Dad's sweater, Dad's coffee mug, Mom's earrings—is there anything you own that's _just_ yours?"

She tilted her head as she considered it and Duke took the opportunity to take a drink of his coffee.

A mistake, in retrospect.

"My boobs." She said plainly.

Duke snorted so hard into his coffee that he ended up wearing most of it. She laughed so hard that she nearly fell off the bench seat in the kitchenette.

Duke glared at her, "You planned that."

"I would never," She grinned at him.

There was a pause where Jennifer went back to typing, and Duke tried to clean himself off. After a moment, he found his gaze falling back to Jennifer, and his mind wondering to what was underneath that oversized sweater.

"You're thinking about my boobs now, aren't you." She asked still looking at her computer screen, though her deadpan tone made it more of a statement rather than a question.

"I…" he stammered, "I would never."

She rolled her eyes at him over the top of her laptop, "Uh-huh. Eyes front, sailor."

He smirked at her, "Yes, ma'am."

She giggled at him, and rolled her eyes again when her laptop dinged once more. She glanced at it and her smile turned from brilliant to sentimental as she read whatever it was that had just popped up. She began typing another reply as Duke opened the waffle iron and pulled out a perfectly golden waffle. He put it on a plate, grabbed some silverware and the maple syrup, and placed the items in front of Jennifer, even as she remained concentrated on the message in front of her.

"Everything good?" he asked, not sure how to read her expression. Not quite contented, not quite anxious, but a strange mix of both, along with a sentimentality that Duke had only seen when she talked about her parents.

"Hm?" she responded, lips pulled into her mouth so it was a line of concentration. She didn't really look at him, aside from tilting her head to the side as if his voice had caused her ears to perk up. In fact, he wasn't even sure that she had seen him place the waffle in front of her.

"You seem pretty concentrated on whoever you're talking to on there, I just want to make sure everything's okay. Also, that you don't let that—," he pointed to the plate, "—_pinnacle_ of breakfast-food perfection go to waste."

She glanced from the waffle to him and grinned, "It'd be a crime of the most epic proportions if I let that happen."

He rolled his eyes but smirked at her, glad that whatever she and the mystery person were talking about, it wasn't enough to quell her sense of humor. As he walked back to the kitchen she commented, "I'm sure there'd be a public hearing. Ooh, I might get court martialed by General Mills!"

"If I didn't know any better, Ms. Mason," he remarked, setting another waffle to cook and refilling his coffee mug, "I would think that you were trying to change the subject away from your mystery conversation. And that would cast some _suspicion_ on just who it is you're talking to, and what it is you're talking about."

It was her turn to roll her eyes as she poured maple syrup on her waffle, "_Fine_. If you _must_ know—,"

"Oh, I must," Duke smirked, turning back to her, leaning against the counter, and taking a much more careful drink of his coffee.

She made a face at him and continued, "—it's an old friend of mine I met in high school. Her name's Holly. Once a year she goes back to Boston to visit family and the like and we usually try to do at least coffee when she's here, _but_ given that I've got…_other_ business this year, we're trying to figure out if there's something else we can do."

"And you can't just not see her this year because…?" Duke prompted.

"Oh I'm not trying to meet up with her this year. We're just coordinating times to Skype later." She replied, still looking at the screen as she put a bite of the waffle in her mouth. As she chewed her eyes widened, and she pointed at the waffle with her fork. She covered her mouth as she said around the bite, "This is spectacular, by the way."

He winked at her, "Secret's in the syrup. And okay, but that doesn't really answer my question." Duke pointed out, gesturing with his coffee mug.

"Because I already feel bad enough about lying to her about why I can't see her in person, I'm not going to lie about not even being able to spare at least five minutes just to try to touch base." She replied defensively, swallowing her bite.

"Easy there, short stack." Duke retorted, "What's so damn important about her, anyway?"

She sighed and began gesturing with her silverware as she tried to find the words, "She's…she's like…"

She paused, finally settling for poking at her waffle while Duke pulled out the fresh one and joined her at the table. If she noticed his wincing as he sat down, she didn't make it obvious. Duke reached for the syrup as she tried again, "We met the summer just before Dad died. There was this program where we went to England and France—the whole thing was supposed to make us, like, little ambassadors or something—and I would be going with a group of other teenagers from pretty much all over the state and on our first meeting, Holly came up to me—I think she could _see_ my nerves from across the room—and started talking to me. We became fast friends."

She took another bite of waffle, before smirking and commenting, "She was the one who taught me the pen thing."

Duke gave her a confused look as he finished a drink of his coffee.

She glanced down towards his wounded leg.

Duke raised his eyebrows, "She sounds like a scrappy thing."

She giggled and nodded, taking a drink of her own coffee, "She knows how to handle herself. She taught me a lot of things—like the best way to do laundry in a bathroom, how to make a fist without breaking my thumb, stuff like that—and she pulled me out of my comfort zone. Frequently. But in good ways?"

Duke nodded his understanding as she ate more of her waffle, "When we got back, I was worried that we'd lose touch but we didn't. She's been good to me, and good for me; even helping me through my dad's death—an event that would and did alienate a lot of people from my life, but not Holly. In fact, when Mom first got sick, she offered to help me pay her medical bills, and when she died, Holly helped me figure out what to do with everything. When she moved out to California three years ago, I was so heartbroken. But we were both careful to keep in contact, and see each other when we could."

She paused, having finished her waffle, and warmed her hands with her coffee mug. Her eyes were direct towards her computer screen but she didn't seem to actually be seeing it as she said, "After my…after I'd been diagnosed, she was one of the only people who treated me like I was normal. She still talked to me, she still…" she trailed off.

For a moment she seemed to come back to herself, and directed her gaze at Duke, "She was a friend, you know? Still is. And I guess I'd just like to hang on to something normal, like a friend."

Duke nodded, having finished his own waffle, and back into his seat, "Yeah. Yeah, I get that."

There was a pause; both of them lost in their own thoughts, before Duke shifted and said carefully, "I'm sorry about…I shouldn't have snapped about your friend's importance. That was rude."

She just smiled at him, "It was. But I accept the apology. Besides, I think you and Holly would hit it off if you two met. She'd put you in your place."

Duke just chuckled and hitched his thumb back towards the kitchen and waffle iron, "Seconds?"

She shook her head, "No, thank you, that one was enough. I think I'm gonna go get dressed; Holly wanted to do a test call in about half an hour."

She began to grab her plate and mug. As she stood to walk towards the sink, she paused and turned to Duke, "You don't mind if I take the call in here, do you?"

"No, no, you go ahead. I don't think my leg's going to let me do my yoga, so I'll probably just shower and head for the Gull. You said Wade already took off for there?"

"Well, I think he did," she answered, putting flatware into the sink, "He wasn't here when I woke up, and I didn't hear him come back here last night, so I just assumed…"

"Hm." Duke mumbled, his brow furrowing in concern.

As she walked back to grab her laptop, Jennifer placed a tentative hand on Duke's shoulder, "Hey."

He looked up at her and fought the urge to put his hand on top of hers, keeping her there.

She offered him a reassuring smile as her thumb stroked his shoulder, "I'm sure he's fine. Why don't you call him on your way to the Gull?"

He nodded, "Yeah, I will."

She smiled at him again before giving his shoulder a careful squeeze and grabbing her laptop.

Once she went back above deck towards her room, Duke decided that he could probably go for another waffle. The waffle consumed, and the kitchen mostly cleaned, Duke headed for his shower. As he was closing his door, he heard Jennifer making her way back towards the table. The call must have started before she was initially ready because he could hear her and another, more digitized, voice getting near, speaking lively.

His shower complete, his wound redressed, some semblance of an outfit thrown together, and his boots laced, he walked back to the stateroom, where Jennifer was in the midst of a rather lively debate.

"That wasn't what happened and you know it." Jennifer was saying, her eyes were shining and her cheeks were flushed. She didn't look truly angry, but she there was an annoyance there. She'd curled her hair, and she was wearing a gray blazer with purple floral print on it over a burgundy dress with dark gray tights.

There was a laugh from the computer, "I do, I do know it, but you're angry face is just _so cute_."

Jennifer made a face at her screen, resulting in another disembodied laugh. Jennifer glanced up at him and flashed him a smile. He returned it, and gestured that he was going to take off. As she nodded her understanding, Holly said, "Who're you smiling at? Is it the pirate guy? Aren't you going to introduce us?"

"I don't think so, he's running late for—," Jennifer started, suddenly looking nervous.

"'Pirate Guy'?" Duke interrupted.

She shot him a glare as Holly said, "Was that him? He sounds hot."

The voice yelled out to him, "Hi Pirate Guy! I'm Holly! I'd love to actually see you if Jennifer would be so kind as to actually introduce us!"

Duke walked over to just behind Jennifer so that he would just barely be within the view of the camera behind her. Holly was a pretty black woman, and had her hair wrapped in a black head wrap with gold patterns painted onto it. She was wearying a gray tank top, and there were remnants of makeup around her eyes and lips. Her eyes were warm from laughing, and her smile was inviting. Lamps lighted the room she was sitting in but it was clear that it was still dark where she was.

Jennifer tilted the screen back and adjusted the laptop's position so that Holly could more easily see Duke. Her eyes lit up when she saw him, and she flashed a grin at Jennifer.

"Ah, so _this_ is the heart-of-gold pirate who's letting you stay on his boat while you track down your birth parents!" She trilled, flashing a knowing smile back at Jennifer.

Jennifer rolled her eyes and looked at Duke, "This is Holly, in all her early morning, sunshine-y glory."

Holly waved on the screen, "Hello! So do you have a name, Pirate guy?"

Duke gave Jennifer a confused look, but from her expression he realized what'd happened; Jennifer wasn't sure whether or not Duke wanted her telling a stranger his real name.

He flashed her a reassuring smile before turning it back to Holly, "You can call me Duke, Sunshine."

Holly grinned, "Well then, hello _Duke_. I hope Jennifer's not causing too much trouble out there. She can be really demanding."

"Oh, all the time. She had me make her _waffles_ this morning." Duke commented, chuckling.

"The _audacity_!" Holly replied, playing up her shock, "Did she make you put chocolate chips in the batter and when they were done smother them in peanut butter?"

Duke turned his surprised look to Jennifer who was blushing deeply and seemed to be trying to shrink herself into the back of her chair, "She did not."

It was Holly's turn to look surprised, "Really? The first time I made her waffles, she fought me tooth and nail for chocolate chips. Did she actually eat it?"

"Yes I _actually_ ate it!" Jennifer snapped, her face now bright red.

Holly chuckled as she looked back at Duke, "She must like you."

"I am _literally_ right here." Jennifer said indignantly.

Duke smiled at her, "You were right, I do like her."

Jennifer rolled her eyes at him and Holly giggled as Duke asked her, "You're up pretty early, Holly. Or is it that you're up pretty late?"

"Neither." She answered, taking a drink of something from a mug with a rainbow painted on it.

Duke shot his confused look to Jennifer who explained, "Holly's an insomniac. She doesn't really keep normal hours."

Holly smiled, "I've been sayin' there's nothing 'normal' about me since I met you, Jen."

Duke chuckled, "Sounds like my kind of woman."

Holly chuckled back, flashing her left hand and the ring on it, "Watch yourself, son, I'm spoken for."

"Oh," Duke clutched his heart mockingly, "Shot down before we could even start."

Jennifer rolled her eyes, "Right, do you two need a moment, because I can go."

Holly scrunched her nose at Jennifer, "Calm down, Jen, just a lil' harmless flirting; nothing your boy here can't handle, apparently."

Jennifer mimicked Holly's action.

She giggled and turned her attention back to Duke, "So Duke, you live on a boat. Take it you've been around?"

Duke nodded, his suspicion rising, "I have."

Holly spared a glance at Jennifer, "Ever been to Amsterdam?"

"Okay!" Jennifer exclaimed suddenly, sitting up straight and leaning towards the laptop, "It was great to talk to you, Holly, I'll talk to you later!"

"Jen, don't you _dare_ hang up on—," Holly leaned towards her camera as well.

"Bye!" Jennifer smiled, quickly hitting the 'end call' button. She closed her laptop and stood up, grabbing it with her as she tried to slide passed him.

"Wow it was great talking to Holly, I hope we can do that again, you should really get going to the Gull and I should go do…other…things. I'll see you later Duke bye," She spoke rapidly, trying to head for the stairs to the upper deck.

"Hold it." He called after her. She froze her stride, her posture tense. He leaned against the counter, "You wanna tell me what the deal is with Amsterdam?"

She sighed heavily and turned back to him, rubbing her forehead with her free hand, "I mean not particularly, but I will because otherwise it'll seem like I'm hiding something from you if I don't."

He nodded.

Of course.

Of course she'd feel compelled to tell him about something that she's nervous about or embarrassed by because she's afraid that he'll think she doesn't trust him. And of course she trusts him, no matter what it is.

"Of course," He mumbled.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing." He shook his head, smiling at her, then waved his hand at her to prompt her to continue, "C'mon, tell me what's so important about Amsterdam that you'd hang up on your friend like that."

She rubbed her forehead again, "Okay! Okay."

She placed her laptop on the counter and began to gesture, "Just…would it help if I said that I was high at the time?"

Duke couldn't hide his surprise, "Were you?"

She sighed, "No."

"Would it help you tell me about this if you were high _now_? 'Cause I can fix that." Duke offered, hitching his thumb behind him.

"Tempting," she allowed herself to smile, "but no. It…ugh, it's stupid that this embarrasses me! Okay." She shook herself, "Okay. My dad had spent two years in Amsterdam before he met Mom, and he always talked about going back. After he died, Mom talked about the two of us going, just to…give us some closure, I guess. So one night, when Holly and I were out after curfew when we were in France, I told her how much I just wanted to go there; that my dad's stories about it made it seem like this…this perfect place where anything was possible and everything was just…_better_, you know? That…that it had turned into like my…" her face was bright red as she looked at the counter, "God, I don't know if I can even say it out loud, it's so ridiculous."

"Hey." Duke said quietly, dipping his head to try to catch her eye.

She bit her lip and looked at him.

"I will never think that anything about you is ridiculous."

If it was possible for her face to get any more red, that's what it turned as she tried smiling back at him. She closed her eyes, letting out a breath through her nose, and finally continued, "Happily Ever After. I told her that Amsterdam had turned into my last shot before the 'And they lived Happily Ever After' appeared on the screen."

She sighed, "It was were I thought I'd be happy."

Duke studied her as she straightened her posture, some of the blush from earlier receding, and waited for her to continue.

"So," she sighed again, straightening her blazer uselessly, "Ever since then, every time I've come into contact with a guy, she'll ask them what they think of Amsterdam. It was—and apparently still is—sort of her way of gauging where said guy was going to fall into my life. And I guess since you own a boat and are letting me stay here, she figured you'd be, uh—," she raised her hands to mime quotation marks as she said, "—'worthy' of the Amsterdam question after having just been introduced."

She shook her head, pointedly avoiding his gaze, before sighing a third time and picking up her laptop to head above deck, "Okay. Well, I think I've embarrassed myself quite enough for one day, so I'm going to go and ride this high all the way to seeing if Vince and Dave would be willing to interview me for a job."

She was speaking rapidly and was halfway up the ladder before Duke tried to slow her down, "Jen—,"

"Have a good day, Duke, I hope everything's okay with Wade, and if I feel like I'm capable of looking you in the eye, I'll probably stop by the Gull later. Bye!"

If she had heard him, she was clearly very determined not to acknowledge him. He heard the door to her room open and close as she hopefully grabbed her shoes and purse before heading to her car.

He let out a breathy laugh as he let his head fall back to look at the ceiling.

"Amsterdam, huh." He rubbed his face as he made his way above deck, wondering if he was still on good terms with the guy he knew out there, and if he'd be willing to let him and a certain pretty little brunette use his place sometime.


	2. B is for Braids

**A/N**: So this one ended up taking place sometime after Duke and Jennifer had gotten together, if I'm trying to insert a timeline to this story. This story might also be more of a Jennifer-centric thing with fluff thrown in, I hope you all still enjoy it though!

**B is for Braids**

_The little things_. That's what her mother had always told her to appreciate.

"If you go living your life only accounting for the 'big' things, then you're not living a _full_ life."

She always preferred to remember the first time her mom had told this to her. It had been in their kitchen, at the end of what had been a rough day for a six year old Jennifer. She didn't remember what had happened, but she knew she had been sitting at the kitchen table, grouchy about something someone in her class had said about her. She had scratched at her head; annoyed at the tight hairbands that were digging into her scalp and pulling at the roots of her hair. And then in came her dad, at four o'clock like he did everyday. That day, he'd come in with a bouquet of flowers for Mom and a ridiculously joyous hug for her, scooping her out of her chair and spinning her around once. She remembered that her mom had been confused but she was laughing as she asked Dad what the occasion was.

"Just because," she had remembered her dad answering as he set her down, grinning broadly. There would be other times when that would be all the explanation they would get out of him. With that he had kissed Mom, and gone upstairs to change into his casual clothes. His sweater, if she was remembering that correctly.

After the whirlwind that was her father had passed, her mother began to trim the stems of the flowers to get them ready for the fluted vase that she had pulled from the top of the cabinets where all the breakable things were kept. She stood in front of the sink, the water running, with a warm smile on her face. Her features were painted in the gold light of the late afternoon sun, making everything about her seem warm and bright. This was how Jennifer preferred to remember her; bathed in golden light and warmth, not frail and pale on a hospital bed, trying to be brave but being so tired she couldn't even keep her eyes open.

As her mother talked, Jennifer had climbed back into her chair at the kitchen table, watching her mom work. She remembered looking at her legs swinging from her chair, briefly noting the skinned knee and bruises from the day's recess, before her mom turned off the sink, causing Jennifer to look back up at her.

"It's the little things." She had said as she put the flowers in their vase, and had given them a sniff. She had smiled over the flowers at Jennifer, the yellow of some of the flowers reflected on her face so that even though she was away from the window it looked like the sun was still on her face, and continued, "The little _good_ things: like sharing a meal with people you love, or coming home to a place that makes you happy—,"

"Or Daddy bringing you flowers?" she remembered asking.

Her mother had grinned at her and nodded, "Yeah, sweetness, exactly like Daddy bringing me flowers."

"But why do those things matter?" She'd asked, shifting so that she was sitting on her hands and leaning towards the table.

"Because those things _do_ matter." Her mother had picked up the vase and placed it on the kitchen table. As she briefly adjusted the flowers, she said, "On our worst days, those little good things are going to bring us back." She had crouched next to Jennifer and had stroked her head, "They're going to remind us why the world is still good."

For the rest of her life, whenever things would get especially difficult, if even one thing turned out right from that day, her mother would just grin at her and say, "It's the little things." There was a time, during the funeral arrangements, that she debated putting it on her mother's headstone, though she'd thought better of it just before everything was finalized. Holly had pushed her on why she'd changed her mind, but she could only bring herself to say, "Just because." The truth was that it seemed too cruel a thing to put it there, and she had opted instead to write, "Remember the Good."

Eventually, it became a kind of mantra for her, a way to promise and to remind herself of the better things outside of that day. And as she was sitting in her car just outside the Rouge, head on the steering wheel after a surprisingly difficult day, it was the only thing she could get herself to think that wasn't horribly angry or horribly depressing.

"It's the little things." She sighed, leaning back into the driver's seat. She sighed again as she looked at the roof of her car, "Yeah. And right now, I want that 'little thing' to be going home, curling up with a book, and seeing Duke. Everything else is just a bonus."

She grabbed her purse and keys as she opened the door and hopped out of her car. She locked the car behind her, adjusting her purse strap, and hunching her shoulders against the wind that had briefly kicked up. She hadn't taken ten steps to the Rouge before she felt something _plop_ on to the left shoulder of her leather jacket. She stopped in her tracks; squeezing her eyes closed to try to _will_ what she was certain happened to not be true. She glanced tentatively at her shoulder only to let out a heartbroken laugh.

Bird poop.

More specifically, _gull_ poop.

She glared up at the sky and the seagulls crying and circling above her, mumbling something about "rats with wings" and cursing their species for the rest of human existence, before resuming her stride and sliding out of the jacket. She sighed just before she actually boarded the Rouge, repeating to herself: "It's the little things."

Once boarded, she deposited the jacket to her room to be dealt with once she was sure she wouldn't somehow ruin it further in an anger filled cleaning, and called out for Duke.

She could just barely smell something cooking below deck, and just barely make out the sounds of plates and dishes clattering from the same place. She shivered in the cool air that her jacket had been protecting her from, and rubbed at her upper arms. Her gray sweater was plenty warm, usually, but after the weight of her jacket, she felt more vulnerable to the cool Maine air than usual.

"Duke?" She called as she made her way below deck.

He glanced at her over his shoulder as he continued to work with something that smelled absolutely wonderful on the stove. He grinned at her, "Hey! You're home a little earlier than I thought you'd be, but dinner's gonna be ready in a few minutes."

She placed her things on the bench in the breakfast nook, watching him, and twisted one of her yellow flower earrings out of habit. He turned back to the stove, still talking, "I hope you like salmon; we had some extra at the Gull and I've been trying to figure out a new recipe."

She leaned briefly against the table, watching his back, noting how at ease he seemed, and maybe even a little excited to be making her dinner, and she felt at ease for the first time all day.

_"It's the little things—like sharing a meal with people you love."_

Before she could stop herself, she had walked up behind him, wrapping her arms around his torso, and buried her face in his back.

Duke paused in his work, "These do not feel like the arms of a happy person."

She laughed into his shirt and said something that he couldn't quite make out. He turned the heat down on his stove before carefully taking her hands in his and pulling her arms off of his middle. For a moment she made to pull them away, misinterpreting the gesture, but Duke only kept his hold steady as he turned around to look at her. There were the beginnings of tears in her eyes, and Duke reached out to touch her cheek with his left hand, still holding her own left hand in his right.

"Let me guess," he said, trying to coax a smile out of her, "you hate salmon."

She only let out a cough of a laugh and shook her head briefly before placing her own hand over his on her cheek and pressing it more firmly there, "No, no, not that."

His thumb stroked her cheekbone, "Then what's with the water works, Short Stack?"

She laughed again, seeming to calm herself more as she spoke, "I said that they were the arms of a tired person, not necessarily an unhappy one."

This earned her an eye roll as she continued, "And what's with the water works is…I'm just really glad to be home."

He smiled at her and kissed her forehead so gently she was afraid she'd start crying right there. Instead, she let go of his hand and grabbed the lapel of his button-down shirt, squeezing her eyes shut, and whispered, "Do that again."

He smiled at her, "I could kiss elsewhere,"

She opened her eyes and smiled back at him, "Then do that."

He chuckled at her just before kissing her lips as gently as he had her forehead. When they broke apart, he pressed his forehead to hers and said, "Welcome home."

She smiled and closed her eyes again, sighing through her nose. He stroked her cheek again before carefully pulling away and turning back to the stove, "So, wanna tell me what has you so upset?"

She sighed, opening the fridge and grabbing two beers from the shelf. Duke glanced at her as she held them up for him to see, and he nodded. She opened them and set them on the table, sliding into one of the seats in the breakfast nook to watch him finish cooking, "How about we start with your day, since you seem to be in a _much_ better mood than me."

He shrugged, "Not much to say; placed orders, tweaked schedules…it was a normal day."

He looked at her over his shoulder, grinning, "Though, waking up with probably _the_ most beautiful woman I've ever seen, might've set me up right."

She blushed at him, taking a drink of her beer, and trying not to look at him.

He just smirked at her before going back to work and asking, "So c'mon, what happened to make your day so bad?"

"Nothing overtly specific, it was just…" she trailed off as he placed the finished meal in front of her; a plate with two pan fried salmon filets and mashed potatoes. He set the silverware down next to the plate with a bit of gusto and a "bon appétit," earning a smile.

She continued, picking up her silverware, as he sat down opposite her, "Have you ever had one of those morning's where you just _knew_ getting out of bed was going to be a mistake?"

Duke set his silverware down and pointed at her, looking offended, "You didn't want to get out of bed this morning, and you _didn't tell me_?"

She laughed as she cut into one of her fillets, and brought a bite to her mouth, "You sound offended."

"Hell yeah I'm offended!" He said, shifting in his seat to lean over the table towards her as he gestured emphatically, "You know what I do when _I_ have mornings like that? I _stay in bed_. I mean, _hell_, Jennifer, we could have just stayed here!"

She finished her bite and sighed, "And that was probably what aggravated me the most about today."

She pointed her fork at the fish, "This, as always, is wonderful, by the way. Thank you."

He took a drink from his beer and lifted the bottle to accept the compliment.

She continued, enjoying her dinner as she went, "I don't know. After that start, it just seemed like there were just a bunch of little things I couldn't get right. And any time I _did_ get something right, something _about_ it would go wrong."

"Like what?" Duke asked, cutting into his own meal.

"Like accidentally spilling my coffee on the printer, getting momentarily locked in the records room, all the progress I'd made on the story I was working on getting deleted after Dave borrowed my laptop for a _minute_ to fact check something, oh, and then when I finally _did_ make it home, a gull pooped on my jacket."

She sighed and took a drink of her beer, as Duke commented, "I've heard that that's supposed to be good luck."

She rolled her eyes, "No, that's just what people say so that you feel better about a bird pooping on you."

"Did it help?" he asked, smirking at her.

She tilted her head, considering it, before answering, "I'd give an 'A' for effort, but a 'C' for execution."

He shrugged, "Better than any other report card I've gotten."

She chuckled at him around a bite of mashed potatoes before adding, "You know, every single time something happened today, I'd think, 'I could've stayed, at home, with Duke.' And that would make it worse somehow."

He smirked at her, "And _yet_ you got up anyway this morning."

She sighed, though she smirked back at him, "It takes more than a bad day to knock Jennifer Mason down."

"Clearly," Duke chuckled, finishing off his plate and standing, "And it apparently takes more than a bad vibe to get Jennifer Mason to stay in bed with a man who's crazy about her."

Jennifer blushed as he offered to take Jennifer's equally empty plate and she complied, thanking him.

He began to wash the dishes, and she went to help him, only to be ushered out, "Oh no you don't, ladies who've had bad days don't do dishes on this boat."

She glowered at him, "Afraid my bad luck's gonna rub off on the dishes?"

He kissed her head and rubbed her arm, "Just go relax on the couch. Drink your beer, read one of your books; I'll take care of this and then I'll join you."

She conceded, holding her hands up in mock surrender, before grabbing her beer from the table in the breakfast nook, and heading towards the wrap-around couch. She placed her beer on the small coffee table and surveyed the few books she'd left on the table previously. She settled on a collection of Pablo Neruda poems that she'd been meaning to read through. Book in hand, she arranged some pillows into the corner of the couch before lying down, reclining into the pillows. She relaxed as she read, listening to the water running and the plates and other cookware clinking in the sink. She could just barely make out Duke humming a tune that she almost recognized and if she concentrated, she could feel the faint rocking of the Rouge on the water. It was the best she'd felt all day.

Soon, the water stopped running, and Duke came near her, holding a newspaper that she barely registered as being in Japanese. She smiled at him as he sat on the floor next to her, setting his arm on the part of the couch that wrapped around on the other side of the breakfast nook. As he opened his paper, Jennifer placed her hand on his head, petting him and entwining the lock of hair that never seemed to make it to his ponytail around her fingers.

He let out a quiet sound of pleasure and contentedness, earning a giggle out of Jennifer. She continued twisting the strand around her fingers, and half running her fingers through his hair, though the pony tail limited her, as she read a few more poems. Eventually she stopped trying to read, sat up, setting the book aside, and pulled out the elastic band holding his hair.

"What'cha up to, sweetheart?" he asked.

She swung her legs over his shoulders so that her feet fell between his upper arms and torso. She ran her fingers through his hair, letting her fingers lightly touch his scalp, smiling to herself as she saw the goose bumps raise on his arms, "I was just thinking how _great_ you'd look in a French braid."

He let his head fall back to look at her, "Jennifer."

She bowed her head down close to him, still smiling, "What."

She kissed his forehead before he could really respond, running her fingers through his hair again. When she pulled back, his eyes were closed.

"Do that again," he said quietly.

She grinned, "I could kiss elsewhere,"

He opened his eyes, keeping them trained on her lips, as he smiled back, "Then do that."

She placed her right hand on his chin, tilting his head a little further back, and leaned further forward to kiss his lips, still twisting his hair in her fingers. He let go of the right side of his paper and laid his hand on the back of her head, holding her there. The positioning was awkward and his moustache tickled her chin, but she couldn't help the happy noise that trilled out of her. He laughed against her lips, just before she pulled back, grinning at him. He rubbed his thumb against the back of her head, just watching her, before his gaze turned briefly serious, "No braids."

She giggled at him, before sitting back up and playing with his hair, "Oh, c'mon! It'd be great! And you are in _very_ capable hands."

He grinned at her, "Oh, I'm aware."

She lightly batted at his head, earning a chuckle out of him as he went back to trying to read his paper.

"What I _meant_," she said, running her fingers through his hair, partially dividing it into sections, "was that half the reason I was invited to sleepovers as a kid was because I was the _best_ hair braider in the whole school. Everyone always knew when I'd been at a sleepover because that Monday, the girls would have some of the most perfect braids."

"Who taught you how to braid?" he asked, eyes half-lidded and still trying to pretend to read his paper.

"My mom." She replied, loosely braiding part of his hair, "When I was little, I had really, _really_ long hair and my mom _loved_ it. Every morning before school, through all of elementary school, I'd sit down in our living room by my mom's feet, and she'd twist my hair into all these hair bands, and she'd braid it; it was intricate and tight, but it kept my hair out of the way and that was all I cared about."

She ran her fingers through the braid she'd made to undo it, resulting in Duke tilting his head all the way back into her lap, the news paper now very much forgotten.

"When she'd do my hair, I'd have a doll in front of me and she'd instruct me in what she was doing so that I could mirror her." She started working on a smaller braid by his temple, "When middle school rolled around, I did my best to try to keep my hiar up on my own, but I finally decided to keep it at a more manageable length—just to my shoulders—and to just let it go. It'd always had a bit of a curl to it, but only at a certain length. I kind of miss it."

"What made you cut it short?" Duke asked, keeping his eyes closed and enjoying her touch. He'd started to rub his knuckles against her calf absentmindedly, earning appreciative pauses in her work and quiet sighs of approval from Jennifer.

"Mom again." She replied, twisting the elastic around the smaller braid she'd made.

Duke looked at her this time, confused, "I thought your mom loved your hair?"

"She did." She contended, a soft smile on her face, "Which is why when she first started losing her hair in chemo, and I came to visit her with a shaved head," she laughed quietly, "she about threw me out of her room."

Duke's eyebrows shot up in surprise, "You shaved your head?"

"It was for my mom and it…" she paused, remembering, "It felt like the only thing I could do for her, you know? I mean, I paid for everything, I saw her everyday, I even think it's why I've never grown it back out again. I did everything I could think of to help her but it didn't feel like I was doing enough. I was always…I was _never_ sure if I was doing enough."

"Jennifer," Duke said, turning and reaching for her face. When his hands touched her cheeks, she realized she'd started crying. He was on his knees and kissed her eyes before pressing his forehead to hers, "Jennifer, listen to me. I wasn't there when she died, but I know, I _know_ beyond a shadow of a doubt, that _everything_ you did for her was enough. Hell, knowing you, it was probably _more_ than enough."

She nodded her head, closing her eyes and sniffling, "I know. I know I did."

"You wanna know _how_ I know that?" He asked, shifting his hands to her neck so that she had to tilt her head back a bit and look at him.

"How?"

"Because that's who you are." He was smiling at her like he had when he'd told her about the boy who'd broken his arm while sledding, "You help people without even thinking about how it'll affect you or even if it will."

She was blushing now as he finished, "You are amazing."

She tried to laugh, to distract from the blush in her cheeks and to get him to stop saying these things to her, "I guess I can always tell when a day's been bad by how quickly I dredge up the Mom and Self Worth Issues."

He chuckled at her, "Well then it's a good thing you're with me so I can remind you about all the good things you are."

She let out a half chuckle, "It's the little things."

He smiled at her and kissed her forehead, "You okay?"

She just laughed, "I could go for some ice cream, if I'm being honest."

He chuckled, kissing her lips, "I know just the place. Best sundae I've ever had; all completely customizable and with every kind of topping and ice cream you could think of."

She grinned, "That. Sounds wonderful."

He stood, grabbing her hands as he went and pulling her up with him. He wrapped her arms back around his waist, and wrapped his arms around her, placing a kiss on top of her head, "You sure you're good, Short Stack?"

She squeezed him, "Better."

He squeezed her back, "Good. C'mon."

He broke the embrace and grabbed her hands, leading her towards the stairs to above deck.

"You realize you're going to keep that braid in the whole time we're out, right?" She asked behind him, referring to the braid that now hung by his face.

He glanced back at her, "Why would I want it out? It's a Jennifer Mason Original."

She grinned at him.

"But I draw the line at French braiding." He said as the made it on deck.

She just laughed, "It'll grow on you."


	3. C is for Constellations

**A/N:** So really fluffy chapter here, even though it's really short compared to my other stuff. I guess I just needed a break from _Find My Way Back To You_ or at least to break up the angst there. For the words in other languages I spelled them how they sound phonetically and in English, so I apologize for any inaccuracies and will fix them if there are some that are glaringly wrong. Happy reading!

**C is for Constellations**

"Jennifer?" Duke asked, looking up at her from her stomach as her fingers ran through his hair, tucking some of it behind his ear and twining it around her fingers alternatively.

She smiled at the sound of her name, but continued reading her book and playing with his hair as she replied, "Yes, Duke?"

"Why are you _reading?_" he asked, reminding Jennifer of a four year old asking why they were doing one thing when they _could_ be doing something else.

She giggled lightly as his goatee tickled the skin of her stomach and shifted her legs under the sheet, "Because I _want_ to."

Duke sighed through his nose, looking at her in weak agitation, "I _meant_, why are you _reading_ when we could be doing something _else._"

She looked at him around the back cover of her book, arching an eyebrow at him.

He smiled at her, scooting closer to her and kissing her ribcage, "I mean, we _are_ already naked."

Not a four-year-old then. More like any boyfriend she'd had in college. Well, and high school, if she was being honest.

"Hey, I'm just following the 'sleep naked' protocol _you_ set up; sex was _not_ implicit in it." She replied, smirking knowingly at him as shifted to her left towards him, and went back to reading.

Duke sighed again, mockingly glaring at her through the covers her book before trying a different tactic. He propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at her torso. After a moment, he reached over her towards the nightstand table that had become "hers" and grabbed one of her pens from it. She glanced at him as he hovered over her momentarily, catching his eye, and he grinned at her.

"What'cha doin', Sailor?" She asked him as he returned to his previous position next to her and looking down at her torso.

He uncapped the purple pen with his teeth before grabbing the cap in his left hand and shrugging at her, "I'm bored."

She arched an eyebrow at him, "Do I bore you?"

He pointed at her, "Trap. That's a trap."

She giggled at him, conceding, "Okay, okay. You caught me."

"I see right through you, Short Stack," he grinned at her, focusing back on her torso.

A silence fell over them as she studied him and he poised the pen above her skin.

"When I was kid," he said, voice rumbling like it did when he was talking about something that was important to him, "before Mom left and Dad got…_bad_, he'd take us out back and show us the stars. He'd tell us about what stars made up the constellations, and about what the constellations represented."

He pressed the tip of the pen next to a freckle she had on her stomach, and then drew a diagonal line from it to another freckle, just below her right breast. From there, he connected that freckle to one just below her sternum and then to another one on the left side of her ribcage.

"He used to tell us that no matter where we were, the stars would lead us home." He laughed halfheartedly, "You know, even when I ran away and I did everything I could to forget about him and Haven, _that_ would still pop up."

She let the book fall onto her chest, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair again. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, before turning his head and kissing her palm as her hand came to rest on his cheek. She stroked his cheek with her thumb as he looked at her, "You okay?"

He smirked at her, shifting the pen to his left hand as he took her wrist carefully in his right hand and connected the freckles on her wrist together, and continued, "What probably didn't help was that when I'd be awake at night, I'd chart them. Just remembering what my dad said and wondering if I'd…if I'd ever…"

He paused, sighing, before he moved to lean over her, letting her wrist go and connecting the freckles on her neck and collarbone. As he finished he smiled at her, "You've got stars on your skin."

She blushed at him, suddenly self-conscious, and moved to cover herself but Duke stilled her hands, mumbling, "Don't."

She blushed harder at him as he kissed her lips, mumbling against them, "I want to see your stars."

She giggled nervously, moving the book from her chest to the nightstand and wrapping her arms around his neck and twining her fingers into his hair, "No one…no one else has called them that."

Duke smirked at her, "Yeah, sure."

She shook her head, "No, I mean it. I don't…I don't think anyone else _noticed_."

He stared at her in disbelief, "_How?_"

How didn't anyone else, even one of her past lovers, notice or think that her skin had stars on it? How could they not be _mesmerized_ by her freckles? By how they formed constellations, by how _incredible_ they were?

She blushed, biting her lip and shrugging at him, "I guess because they weren't _you._"

She shifted nervously under him, unsure what to do under his gaze and after saying that, but he knew. He kissed her, deeply, pressing his body against hers. She placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back slightly. At his dismayed look, she suppressed another nervous giggle and said, "I want you to tell me about the constellations. Before they go away."

"They won't go away," he husked, kissing her neck, "_I'll_ remember them."

"Duke."

He sighed, bowing his head so that his forehead rested in the crook of her neck, before shifting so that his body wasn't on top of her and grabbing her wrist to point at the five freckles he'd connected there; it looked like a crude "Y."

"This one?" he asked, pointing to it, "This is _iva_, it's Russian, it means 'willow.' And it's why you're so kind to everyone around you, and why you can jump into any situation and just _thrive_."

She looked at him, waiting for him to expand on it.

He chuckled, "In Celtic practices; well, from what I _understand_ of Celtic practices, the willow trees were highly regarded because of their adaptability—like, a branch could fall into a bog and it'd become it's own tree—and was used to try to enhance love in people's lives; exactly like you do."

She blushed at him as he touched the three freckles he'd connected on the left side of her neck, fingertips just barely brushing it, "This one is _yumi_, Japanese, and it means 'bow.' In some cultures, bows symbolize axioms of truth, which is why you wanted to be a journalist; to find the truth."

He let his fingers trail down to stomach, fingertips just barely touching her and resulting in goose pimples to rise on her skin. He smiled to himself as he touched the freckle on her stomach that he'd started at, "This one, though, this one's for me."

"Really? Because it looks like it's still on _my_ body." She quipped, giving him a cheeky smile.

He scrunched his nose at her, "Do you want me to tell you _why_ or do you just want to keep being cheeky?"

She scrunched her nose back at him but stayed quiet as he splayed his fingers within the confines of the connected freckles.

"This one," he said, keeping his eyes on his hand on her stomach, "This one is _parivāra._ Hindi—,"

"I didn't know you spoke Hindi." She interrupted faintly.

Duke just smiled coyly at her, "I'm sure there are a _lot_ of things you don't know about me."

He looked back at his hand on her stomach, "Now, if we're quite done interrupting me; this one is _parivāra_. It's Hindi and it means 'family' or 'home.'"

He pulled his fingers together, dragging them across her skin, before tapping his middle finger on her stomach, "And this one is for _me_, because it…it's the one constellation that I've found, that finally led me home."

Duke looked up at her, anxiety etched into his face.

She smiled at him, running her fingers through his hair again, face warm and inviting, before she pulled him down to kiss him, mumbling, "Welcome home."


End file.
